


Rejection Pains

by Spacegaywritings



Series: Bad Therapists have a special Place in Hell [4]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Bad Thoughts, Bad therapist, Cognitive Distortions, Crying, Despair, Devotion, Expensive things, Gen, Invalidation, Judging - Freeform, Manipulation, Mental Breakdown, Mind Break, ND Roman, Projection, Rejection Sensitivity, Roman has really harsh issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Shit family, Tears, Yelling, absent father, losing temper, power shit but not the funny thing, questionable methods, strict mother, talks of displacement, talks of low self esteem, ugly words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27213832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacegaywritings/pseuds/Spacegaywritings
Summary: Roman has terrible mood swings and suffers from feeling rejected and unwanted by any and all things in life. Emile has just the thing for him.
Series: Bad Therapists have a special Place in Hell [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940389
Kudos: 7





	Rejection Pains

**Author's Note:**

> (Yes, I forgot yesterday was Sunday and I should be updating. I just really do not sleep, so I forget things.)
> 
> Disclaimer: writing based on subjective experiences based on therapy, mental health issues and (LOCAL) stigmas. You might have better/worse/different experiences with your struggles and how they were perceived and treated. Your culture or surroundings might have different bias. This is for venting and does not objectively apply to everyone’s experience of their mental illness or struggles.

As usual, the white walls stood around, framing the prison that was Doctor Emile Picani’s private practice. His composed attire swept into the room, joining the new patient.

Another young adult, dressed in a more casual suit of red and white colours. The therapist noted the explicitly expensive looks with a sense of delight. It was nice to see nice things. Aesthetics were appealing to the human eye and mind, Emile liked to say.

The impressive sight of an individual rose up, extending a hand to greet the therapist.

“Hello! I am Roman Sanders. Nice to meet you - Doctor Picani?”

The therapist beamed, his face lighting up like a set of fairy lights. He took his hand and gently squeezed it.

“Hello - yes! Picani. Call me Emile, if you like.”

Emile left swiftly, turning away to take a seat. Roman took it upon himself to seat himself on a nearby recliner. The couch seemed too much in the dark for him. The recliner was in a light colour, a nice beige and warm like the rest of the room, just a bit bland for his taste. The striking point for him was that it was closer to the therapist, closer to the window and in the sun.

The seat was, indeed, warm and cozy. Just as expected.  
He smiled, pleased with his decision. The good feeling affirmed his choice.

“Ah, it is nice here. Very lovely.”

The professional smiled once more and nodded.

“Thank you, you are very kind”, he sighed softly, “now, now - what brought you here, today?”

Roman’s shoulders drew together just a slightest bit. Like knitting needles, his shoulder blades seemed to strive to meet once more under his suit. Even combined with the dress shirt, the clothing could not conceal how his muscles tensed up like a flinch.  
He cleared his throat, his eyes closing for a moment. He seemed to chase invisible dirt off his lap which was already meticulously clean. His shoulders eased up again, wrinkles from ironing excessively seemed burned into his pants. They stuck out as if to point at Emile.

“I “, he took a deep breath, dramatising his own narration, “came here... because I have.. well, issues.”

His hands tightened into fists which he quickly released the second he recognised the motion. His fingers brushed his knees and he pushed his lips into a bright smile. His eyes were screaming in feeling at the same time.

“I, uh, have these issues with.. people?”

The therapist clicked his pen against the clipping board. It was a simple one. Wood and some metal. Simple, bland. Easy.  
Nothing like Roman. Nothing like the dull shine of a burned out star of mimicked hope and glory illuminating the surroundings.

“Whaaaat kind of issues? We all have some funny issues! I have an issue with this street sign which is just a little askew, you know? What issue do you have with people?”

He flashed him a set of white teeth, shining like treasures or gleaming like a dagger in the moonlight. Emile leaned in a bit, holding onto his board.

“People can get a little tough, can’t they?”, he winked, leaning back into his seat, “What is the issue? Upset over someone’s manners? How they pronounce words?”

The golden boy gave him a pained look. The longer the therapist talked, the more he dragged out the time his client did not speak. His eyes seemed to suffer terribly from this fact only, making Roman end up looking like a kicked puppy, abandoned by their beloved owner.  
He straightened his tie, his lips twitch into yet another smile. It was painted like onto the Mona Lisa. Roman’s eyes were sighing instead of him.

“I can’t - I can’t talk to them”, the patient admitted. The scoffed at his own words, “Look at me. I am sitting here, in a suit worth more than the rent for this bland room and I speak of such nonsense like not being able to talk to people- I “

He interrupted himself, sighing in exasperation as if to reign some part of him in. Emile could see Roman fighting his own person like his worst enemy.  
Pride distorted his features and wrath shaped his hands into claws. They dug into his knees but released at once.

“When I talk to people, I feel bad. I feel less than them and I hate it.”

He leaned back, taking the reins again. His posture looked more like a driver than a constipated man, at last. One of his elbows rested upon the recliner’s edge and Roman waved his hand dismissively.

“These... these mortals talk to me, thinking they are as much as I am- do you understand me? They - They seriously think they deserve as much talking time and attention.”  
Once more, he sneered for a short moment but composed himself just as quickly.  
“They hate me. They all hate me and I don’t care but I do and it disgusts me.”

He averted his face and stared into one of the walls. It was only now that he noticed a potted plant right next to him. It made him feel like a king in the jungle, ruling over savage animals that would jump and sing for him and worship his existence.

The therapist was still silent, his lips pressed into a thin line but it looked like a smile. Roman wanted to wipe it off his face and stomp on it but he licked his lips instead and smiled it away.

“Do you want to say more?”

Roman growled.  
He literally growled at the therapist but he was already smiling again by the time Doctor Picani checked his patient.

“Let me finish and I can tell you”, he smiled. Emile could feel needles and pins sticking to him but Roman sighed once more, looking like a hurt dog again. There was a deep church-like remorse in his maroon orbs.  
They were deep like battle scars.

“I think.. I think I don’t know how to talk to people, how to, uh .. interact with them. They all hate me. No matter what I do, they all hate me and I cant - I cant even hate them back! I want to not care but it hurts when they don’t smile at me like they smile on others!”

His voice was shaking and his fingers travelled up to grab his upper arms, clinging to himself like a lifeline in the middle of the ocean.

“I hate them - I hate that they hate me that they can’t love me! I am great, I am supposed to be great - why can’t I be great - I .. I just want.. someone to smile at me.. like they smile at others.. and to be happy.. like they are happy with others..”

A tortured sob broke from his throat. Emile’s mouth was ajar. Roman wiped the wetness away and smiled over it.

“It is.. it is nothing, I guess. Just some.. small sensitivity. I am an actor! Great, isn’t it? Hah.. yeah..”

Another set of nervous chuckles erupted from his chest. They boiled up and over, flooding out of his mouth and drowning the room in his sudden change of affect.

“Hahaha, I thought you should, ha, get to know me. Get to know me, personally!”

His hand brushed over his face, wiping the act off his face and he sighed, leaning into the recliner.

“Wasn’t this impressive?”

A hopeful smile featured his lips, gently decorating his face with little sparkles and stars. The therapist smiled back ever so patiently.

“Yes, of course. Well, Roman. This was really intense. Talking about being an actor, how was your dad in your childhood?”

The actor stopped, stuttering out sounds instead of answers. The pen scratched over the board. Roman’s heart was beating, hearing and breathing the evaluation.  
He had messed up. He had messed up. He knew he knew he knew!

“F-father? Oh, well. What is there to tell about him? Well, he was .. a father.. like a father, I suppose-”

He coughed and cleared his throat once, then a bit more and then just another tad more.

“He was.. there when he was.. and then”, he pursed his lips, calculating the bullshittery of his life on how much he could microscopically shake his head in denial, “he was not there when he was absent, you know? Fa- dad stuff. Yes. Simple things dad do - they are called dad...things..”

Emile nodded.

“Alright alright. Don’t worry, that is okay. Times change and fathers used to be more absent than not. It is okay if he was not around. I take you have no good relationship to him. Now, what about your mother?”

His shoulders pulled into a shrug.

“It is whatever, I guess. There is nothing to really talk about, really. She wanted me to be a big star. I am trying. I am really trying. I will have auditions for a big show, a really big film. Alfred Hitchcopalucas, you know? Very big things, yes.”

He brushed over his knees, kneading his hands into his thighs.

“I think they hate me.”

Emile’s head bopped up and down for an intense couple of nods. Roman sighed and massages his fingers into his knee, gently soothing the tension of life out of himself.

“I think everyone hates me. She was right, I am bad.”

The therapist perked up.

“Your mother?”

A nod.

More scribbles. The writing was driving him insane.

“Do you have to write everything down?!”, he yelled out. The moment he glared pure hatred into the therapist was brief and quickly replaced by another moment of remorse.  
“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to do that. To say any of this. I.. I get agitated a lot”, he brushed through his styled hair, “but this is.. nothing - nothing bad to worry about.”

He smiled and waved at the therapist.

“Maybe I don’t need help. I think I am in the wrong here. I should just go. This was a stupid idea, I am stupid - I mean, who could hate me, I am great. I am great, am I not?”

His voice fell into a plead and he shook his hair, rising to his feet.  
Doctor Picani rose with him, positioning himself in front of the door. Hos posture was blocking it and shielding the entrance and exit from Roman’s reach.

“Mister, please sit down and listen. You can leave as soon as I am done. Your session is not over yet.”

Roman shook his head and started moving towards him once more but the doctor did not bluff, he walked to meet him.

“Sit down. Listen. I am here to help you!”

The patient looked between Emile and the door, then glared back into the therapist’s eyes.

“Fucking say it, then.”  
The man spoke up.  
His speech was cold, grey like the rainy sky and chilling Roman to the core.

“I think you behave like an asshole and this needs ot be worked on. You are very unstable and deceive yourself. You claim you are an actor - fine, but you might extend acting into your real life a bit too much. Outside the job, you need to stop lying to yourself and taking the roles of other people. You wouldn’t be so scared of others, of their talents and opinions if you even had an ounce of self-esteem, Roman.”

The actor crumbled under these words.  
Tears welled up in his eyes and he sniffled. His arms curled around himself, hugging his own form. He was so small in his expensive attire. The brand logos and impressive symbols hovered over him to make him even smaller, it seemed.  
The patient cried, falling to his knees as he sobbed further and further.

“I - I am not! I am trying ! I am trying so much!”

His head was red, painted in screams and desperation. It was a canvas of failure his parents had painted onto him and his skin was soaking up. His body and mind embraced the idea and took the principles, the burdens and pain.

“I..is it.. is it my fault?”

The therapist looked at him. The sun illuminated his figure. They were just a few steps away from the warm chair Roman had rested in a while ago.   
His cold eyes bore into the fallen figure of a man, an empire of energy and dreams. Broken crowns and choking dust were on the floor.

His pride had shattered and Picani took it upon himself to walk all over the last few shambles he could find. Roman whimpered, whining and flinching when the therapist returned to the seat Roman had sat in just a moment ago. He sunk into the recliner, leaning back and looking at the arched back. Roman was curled around his own despair.

“You shovelled your own grave, Roman. You buried all your social contacts and now you are crying over the past when you could have been better. I suggest you find yourself the role of a philantrophe and see to your friends and family again. Maybe if you are a truly kind person, an actual hero, they would want to talk to you again. Maybe they will come and watch your shows. The shows of a great man.”

More broken sobs could be heard. Roman was hyperventilating on the floor and Emile was watching him silently.

“I can help you be better, I can practice with you and help you be the person they have always compared you to. Who was it? Your sister? Your brother? A great cousin? Maybe your parents talked so much about each other and their successes, they saw you as a shadow of themselves and you felt never enough because you could not imitate the size of their fame.”

The therapist clicked his tongue.

“Will you let me help you, Roman? I am offering to let your past go, to let the old Roman go and be new.”

The actor crawled on the floor, arriving back at the seat and sitting before Emile’s feet.

“Please, please please help me”, he wailed. His hands were on the floor, next to Emile’s shoes.

“If you have so much dedication to your cause, I hope you are ready to leave all of you behind and start all over again. I will rewrite your mind, Roman.”

A short gasp.  
Sparkles featured his face.

“P-please.”

The therapist nodded sagely.  
It was slow and heavy like the decision on the table.

“So be it.”

**Author's Note:**

> End Note: This is not how a therapist should treat you. If someone treats you or your issues like that, please make sure you leave immediately and report this. A real therapist will validate your concerns and try to redirect your thoughts. If you have mental health issues, please reach out for help. Depression and sadness can have several different causes. If you struggle with interpersonal relationships, with the slightest bit of criticism and find yourself thinking about self-harm or even ending your own life, please reach out for help. There are many people who would miss you, online and offline. You are not there to make other people happy. Your personality is what you are. Don’t be afraid to look up hotlines, texting services and other supportive spaces. Check out apps, communities and whatever else helps you. It makes sense to contact a GP and work with a therapist and even psychiatrist if needed.  
> \- be safe and be kind to yourself and others.


End file.
